


Echos

by laurpas, StormDragon, TearsOfWinter



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Ghosts, Loss, M/M, Pre-Relationship, andy is a psychic, fenders telephone game 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-10-20 15:52:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10665909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurpas/pseuds/laurpas, https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormDragon/pseuds/StormDragon, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TearsOfWinter/pseuds/TearsOfWinter
Summary: Anders has a special talent- One that allows him to see into the pasts of the people around him when he touches them. Which complicates things a little when, one day, he brushes up against Fenris...Written for Fenders Telephone Game 2017





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 1 by StormDragon  
> Chapter 2 by TearsOfWinter  
> Chapter 3 by laurpas

Kirkwall was full of ghosts.

Their essence lingered over the city, like motes of dust in air. 

To call them ghosts however would be inaccurate. They were more echos of words and deeds done so long ago, existing long past the people that made them. 

Reenacting moments long forgotten with only those from the Fade as their audience. The living could only ever catch glimpses of their performance in places where the veil was thin. Even then it was not guaranteed the living would see anything at all.

Unfortunately for Anders, since he joined with Justice, he needed nothing to witness the echos of the dead. The first time had been unnerving but after a year, he had learned to cope and pick up on the subtle differences between the living and the echos of those who had been alive. 

Outside of the usual giveaways, like their clothes or the lack of reaction from the people around them. Their voices were always so clear, even when their voices sounded like whispers. And a closer inspection would reveal they were transparent, like looking through murky water where you could only faintly see past.

However even with the full knowledge they were echos and not someone alive bleeding to death in front of him, Anders still had difficulty ignoring them. Hence, his reluctance to accompany Hawke to places like the bone pit. A place so crowded with beings long dead. 

It was difficult to focus on combat with so many crying out for salvation, for justice. It pained Anders to hear them and know there was nothing he could do. But he steels himself as best he can to make sure the small group he considered friends didn’t join those voices.

It wasn't until the night Karl died, Anders' changed his opinion on his ability. 

For as he clutched the old golden earring to his chest, he saw Karl again. The echo of his lover was younger than the Karl he met in the Chantry. His hair dark with streaks of gray that Karl often jokingly attributed to being Anders’ fault for causing him stress. 

"Anders," Karl smiled at him, yet not at him. It was wonderful smile, one Anders cherished so dearly. "I want to show you something." Karl fished out a familiar earring from his pocket to give to Anders or where Anders would have been if he were a part of this reenactment. Perhaps when he departs, his own echo would join Karl’s.

Anders lost count of nights he spent holding the earring, talking to Karl’s echo. He knew the echo couldn’t hear him and would continue to repeat the same lines over and over again. But that didn’t matter, so long as Karl was with him. 

Justice of course never approved of Anders’ method of coping with Karl’s death, lingering in the past wasn’t a healthy way to cope. But Justice didn’t force him to stop. And perhaps if Anders had listened to the spirit, he wouldn’t have had a problem with touching people.

Because somewhere between now and then, Anders’ ability had evolved into allowing him not just to see the past of an object with ease but that of people as well. However, when it came to people Anders had little control over whether he would see something or not. He couldn’t even control what he was seeing. 

For years, Anders kept his touches brief while he practiced controlling it on ship captains. Seeing into their past had helped him find those who could be trusted with smuggling mages away from Kirkwall and those who couldn't. 

And just when he thought he was finally getting some control, Fenris comes to fuck it up. Not that Anders truly blamed the elf, he just never accounted for Fenris’ markings. 

\---

They were breaking camp when Fenris poisoned not by one of large spiders that infested the wounded coast, but by something much smaller with a much more potent venom. In a way Anders was at fault, he wasn’t paying attention to where he laid his bedroll and it was Fenris who quickly snatched up the spider before it could bite into Anders’ tender flesh. And in doing so, Fenris was bitten. 

Since no one but Fenris got a good look at the spider, who waved it off as some common pest, no one tended to the bite. It wasn’t until he collapsed in Lowtown, a feverish heap, did they all realize the spider must have been something more venomous.

They wasted no time in bring the elf to Anders’ clinic. 

Once Fenris was safely deposited on one of cots and the elf’s pack and sword left by desk, the others left for their respective homes to rest their weary bones. Leaving Anders alone to deal with the elf, that when it happened. In the middle of calling his magic to heal the man, Fenris’ hand shot up and grabbed Anders by the wrist.

“No magic,” Fenris grunted, pain evident in his voice. 

Anders dumbly nodded, surprised not just by Fenris’ action but by the elven woman who stood on the opposite side of the cot where Fenris laid. 

She disappeared as Fenris’ released his wrist. The mage frowned, glancing at Fenris and the spot the woman had occupied. It was clear she was echo of someone Fenris knew, but Anders didn’t know who she was to the warrior. 

Anders tried to put her out of his mind and tended to Fenris. Anders honored Fenris’ request, it was the least he could do, and did so without his magic. It wasn’t easy with Fenris unable to tell him what type of spider it was. But Anders managed to identify the spider from the bite mark and the symptoms the elf had. Fenris was lucky the spider was common enough that Anders had some familiarity with it. 

She appeared every time Anders touched Fenris’ skin, the crows feet around her eyes crinkled when she smiled as she spoke softly in tevene. And every time Anders saw her, he grew more curious as to who she was, if she had been important to Fenris. Maybe even a piece of his lost past.

Eventually Anders decided he owed the elf, tried to figure out a way to show her to him. The answer was of course was a simple as a sheet of parchment. With charcoal in hand, Anders began to draw the woman. Each line drawn with care to capture her features as best he could without touching Fenris more than needed. 

By the end of the week, Anders awoke to find Fenris standing by his desk with the sketch in his hands no doubt spotting the drawing as he went to retrieve his greatsword. 

“Where did you get this?” Fenris sounded calm while his hands trembled. 

Anders bit his lip unsure how to answer, he had planned on just hiding the sketch in Fenris mansion like he does with his manifesto pages in Hawke’s estate. But now he couldn’t do that, so he did as Justice urged him to, “I drew it.”

He could only hope curiosity didn’t end up killing the cat.


	2. Chapter 2

Fenris never slept. Even as he found a place to settle down, he was still a runaway. Corpses littered around his home, proof that slavers and mercenaries lurked in the shadows, watching, waiting for a moment of weakness. So long as Danarius lived, Fenris had to be on guard. But more than the fear of being caught unaware, were the dreams that plagued his sleep…or were they memories?

Fenris couldn’t tell, couldn’t remember. He’d wake and the images would fade from his mind like sand through a sieve. Each time his eyes fluttered open, it was to find his cheeks stained with tears, evidence of dreams he could never recall.

His heart ached to remember his past. Who was he? Did he have a family? A mother? A lover? Did anyone care for him at all, if he lived or if he died? He thought the answers to his questions were gone, erased by the lyrium that scarred his body, but his mind was a cruel thing. It tempted him with his past each night, just to snatch it away in the morning, leaving him to mourn his loss again and again with nothing but tears to remember by.

…That was until he found the drawing. His heart lurched in recognition. Images flashed in his mind’s eye, too fast for him to comprehend, but he knew. This woman, this elf, he knew her. She was…is someone important to him. If there were answers to be had, she could tell him. He had to find her.

“Where is she?” Fenris asked the mage, keeping his tone calm despite the storm raging inside his chest. “Is she in Kirkwall? One of the Dark Town residents?”

Anders hesitated. His lips parted as if to speak, but he closed them again as he thought over his answer. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know who that is.”

“Then how did you draw this?” Fenris snapped, shoving the piece of parchment dangerously close to Anders face. “Tell me. Who is she?!" Desperation leaked into his voice. He grabbed Anders by the collar of his shirt, his knuckles brushing against the open patch of skin on the mage’s neck.

The moment they touched, the ghost of Fenris’ past appeared again. "Leto,” she whispered, her eyes kind, her smile soft. “My dear, Leto, my sweet son.”

“Leto?” Anders curiously repeated after her, to only have the woman fade from view as Fenris shoved him away.

Pale and shaking, Fenris clutched at his head. “Leto, that name. I know that name. Someone… someone called me that before.” Green eyes filled with agony met his gaze, and Anders felt his heart shutter. “How..? How did you..?”

Shit. He really dug himself into a hole this time.

Sighing, Anders ran a hand through his unbound hair. “Let’s just say I have a special ability and leave it at that.”

“You used magic on me?” Fenris said, disgust warring with betrayal in his eyes.

“No!” Anders shook his head vehemently. “Of course I didn’t use magic on you! I like my heart right where it is, beating in my chest.”

“Then…”

“Look, I’m sorry if I distressed you. Just take the drawing and go home. You’ve been through a lot. You need rest.”

“I’m not going anywhere if you don’t give me answers, mage. What is this special ability you speak of if it doesn’t involve magic?”

Anders stumbled backwards as Fenris took a step closer. He didn’t want another accidental touch. “None of your business. I don’t have to tell you anything.”

“Anders,” The blond jolted at Fenris’ use of his name. He’d always been “mage” or “abomination”, rarely ever recognized by name. “Please. I don’t have much to offer, but if you help me…I…I’ll forever be in your debt.”

Anders pursed his lips in distaste; not because he thought Fenris unworthy, but Fenris, the proud and arrogant mage-hater, the elf that had been tortured and enslaved by mages, was bending his head so easily to yet another mage. All because Anders unwillingly glimpsed into his past. That did not sit well with him.

“Stop it,” he said, fluttering around Fenris, wanting the elf to raise his head but afraid to touch him. “This isn’t like you. I don’t want you in my debt. I want you out my clinic.”

“Anders-”

“And stop calling me Anders. It sounded better when I was just mage to you.” The mage crossed his arms across his chest. “Consider this as a thank you for taking the spider bite for me, but you’re not going to like it.”

Anders wouldn’t admit it, but the spark of hope lit behind Fenris’ emerald green eyes caused nervous knots to form in his stomach.

“That is for me to decide,” Fenris said, “What is it?”

Though there was no one other than the two of them in the clinic, the truth of his ability was still hard to admit. Out of habit, Anders glanced around anyway to make sure they were truly alone. “I don’t know how and why, but over the years…I…I can read a person’s past or see the ghost of people that pass through their lives when I touch them. So when I was healing you…I…I occasionally had to touch you. Not inappropriately! I had to lift you a few times when I rewrapped the bandages…and when I did that, a woman- the one from the drawing- kept appearing. I think…I think she’s your mother. She called you her son…”

Silently, they regarded one another. Anders tried not to flinch as Fenris reached his hand up and held the palm of his hand against Anders’ cheek.

“Since I’m touching you now, can you see her?” Fenris whispered. “Can you see my mother?”

Anders glanced behind the warrior elf, and found the woman smiling as she’d always been. “Yes.”

Fenris swallowed the hard lump in his throat. He brought his other hand onto Anders’ cheek, cradling the mage’s face like a lover would. “Help me,” he croaked, voice numb with a thousand emotions. “Help me remember.”


	3. Chapter 3

Anders sucked in a deep breath, unprepared for both the touch from Fenris’ hands and the depth of emotion in his eyes. He had always considered the man wild and brutish, little better than the bucketheads that roamed the Gallows. But the expression on his face- the fact that he was touching Anders- made his chest ache to realize how badly Fenris wanted this.

“It’s…” His voice had dropped to a whisper and it only made their positions more uncomfortable, “It’s not like I can bring her back. It’s just a memory, Fenris, nothing more real than that.” He tried to make his voice as kind as possible, but there was no softening that blow. And yet, Fenris did not move his hands away. 

“I know,” he said, and Anders watched as his face contorted, as if he might… 

No, Fenris would never cry. Let alone in front of him. 

“Believe me,” he said, exhaling shakily, “I am… Aware that I will never… I just want to know. To remember.” He closed his eyes when Anders just kept staring at him, finding it difficult to bear the mage’s pitying glance. He was not gloating or trying to use this to his advantage which was a small miracle and yet somehow that look of sympathy on his face was so much worse.

Anders finally sighed and, his face grimset, he moved his hands up and gingerly wrapped them around Fenris’ upper arms where a gap in the armor exposed more of his skin. “Alright,” he said, “Where… Do you want me to start?”

Fenris had not wanted to beg but had nearly been about to when Anders gripped his arms and spoke. It took him a moment to formulate a response until finally he said, “Everywhere, anywhere- I have… Nothing. Snatches of memories, but no more.”

“Alright,” Anders said, and then began to speak, describing the woman who stood just behind Fenris, still wearing that soft smile. He continued to talk, half concentrating on the ghostly figures that slowly began to emerge behind Fenris the longer they touched each other, and half on the expression on Fenris’ face.

Later he would think it like a flower blossoming for the first time, the way Fenris’ face slowly opened as Anders went on and on. The lines, usually so severe, softened in his expression and his eyes opened wider, his brows slightly upturned. He looked to Anders attentively but there was none of the usual disgust or anger there. His mouth, so often curled down into a frown or at best a grimace, had turned up and parted slightly.

It was far more difficult than it should have been for Anders to keep his concentration. For him to look beyond the man that stood before him and instead focus on the figures that kept appearing. There were some, of course, that he chose to ignore. People who wore rich robes and looked at Fenris with cruel interest, others who wore whips on their belts and smirked nastily. But most of the people that Anders saw gazed upon Fenris with varying degrees of respect and worry. Almost all of them were elves, though there were one or two humans.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, Fenris moved to step away from the mage who immediately dropped his arms. They stood there like that for a few minutes in silence, Anders watching Fenris warily and Fenris…

He closed his eyes, as if he could hold all of the memories in that way. There were so many of them, swimming through his head and jostling for space. Listening to the mage had brought many latent memories to the surface and while most of them were still fuzzy it was far easier to hold on to these ones than the remnants of his dreams. 

Slowly he reopened his eyes in order to look at Anders, who hadn’t stopped staring him. He was frowning, wearing a pinched look on his face, and it only grew more severe when Fenris smiled a little.

“I…” The elf started, and then looked away. “Thank you. I do not know how I can repay you but-”

Quickly Anders flapped his hands and replied, “No, none of that, I don’t want- You’re not in my debt. It’s really… Nothing.” 

Fenris raised an eyebrow, ready to argue, before stopping himself. The mage had done something kind for him and was refusing to take any sort of payment. In a situation like this Fenris could afford to be the gracious one. 

“As you wish,” Fenris said, inclining his head to him. He hesitated for a moment, wanting to say something else, but the mage was clearly uncomfortable enough as it was. And so instead Fenris nodded one last time and then turned, walking to the clinic door and disappearing into the night.

Anders stared after him for a long time. Though the figures had disappeared from Anders’ vision as soon as he had stopped touching the elf he could not help but continue to think on them. 

Leto. That was his name, or had been at some point. And if the figures from his past were anything to go on he had been a clever, if mischievous child. 

But he was that person no longer, and never would be again. And yet…

Anders shivered. He had learned far more about Fenris than he had ever wanted to that night and frankly had no idea what to do with the information he had learned. Where did they stand, now? They had always existed at such polar opposites to each other and yet…

He swallowed heavily. They had stood in the middle of his clinic, practically holding each other, as Anders had spoken of Fenris’ past while the elf had listened attentively. Something had changed, and Anders neither welcomed nor wanted it.

He huffed a breath and then turned to go back to his desk. There was work to do and with any luck it would distract him from any more thoughts of the elf.

 

Though Anders did his best to forget that night it seemed that Fenris was not of the same mind. Typical, that they would stand on opposite sides of this issue too.

But though it disturbed Anders that Fenris was now acting decently towards him it was all bearable until the day that Fenris showed up at his clinic, claiming to be there to help him.

It had been a miserable few days- An outbreak of cholera had spread like wildfire through Darktown and as usual there were never enough hands, or mana, for him to save everyone. Hawke had come to take him on a job and had been chased away by the smells and sounds of human suffering that had emanated from the clinic. 

Anders had put him from his head and turned back to his healing almost immediately. There was no time to waste, what with all of the people, the endless stream of patients that never ceased, never, never-

And then a pair of black leggings had stepped in front of him and a deep voice had muttered, “How can I help you?”

He should have chased him away. Should have told him that he did not need any help from one such as him. That Fenris was a fighter, not a healer. But Anders was desperate and so instead what came out of his mouth was, “Anyone in a cot unable to stand- Make sure they’re drinking the rice solution, Maker I hope another batch has been started- I know they’re sick and won’t want to eat but…”

Fenris nodded and without another word set to work. Had it been any other day Anders might have stopped to watch him and marvel but instead he was swept back into his head, doing his best to save what lives he could.

It was two days later that the amount of patients leaving the clinic grew to be more than those arriving. Not all left alive, to Anders’ grief, but it was a part of healing that he had long ago had to accept. He could not save everyone, could only promise to try and save more the next time that this happened.

He stood at his desk, rubbing a hand over tired eyes and trying to think of what new supplies he would need since so many of his stores had been depleted in the epidemic. When he opened them again it was to see Fenris standing in front of him.

He blinked and Fenris had to stop himself from frowning at the man. He was beyond exhausted, having slept even less than usual in the past few days, and was covered in every unnamable fluid a person was capable of producing. He needed a bath and food and a bed to rest in and yet he could not slip out of Anders’ clinic without saying something.

What, he did not exactly know. When Hawke had informed him of the mage’s situation he had come to help to try and repay his debt. He had wanted to walk out of the clinic feeling lighter, but instead his emotions had become even more entangled.

He had never appreciated, before then, just how much Anders did for the people of Darktown. Fenris could only imagine what might have happened to all of the people, had they not had the clinic to turn to. Many more would have died, he was certain, especially the little ones who were particularly vulnerable.

“Fenris,” Anders said, staring at the other man. He knew even less what to say. “I… Thank you. For your help.”

Fenris nodded. He could not say he had enjoyed himself- That would be a blatant lie- but he was glad to have helped, all the same. “Of course. Hawke said you were dealing with an outbreak.”

“So you… Came to help?” Anders wasn’t quite sure what to make of it, but he couldn’t be sorry for Fenris’ help either.

“Yes,” he replied, resisting the urge to fidget. He hesitated and then said, “I… Have never had the chance to observe you in your clinic. It was very informative.” Anders frowned, already preparing himself for Fenris to criticize him, only for the elf to continue. “I find myself with… Some measure of respect for you.”

Fenris could have told him that he was to be the next Divine and Anders would have reacted with the same measure of shock.

“I’m sorry, did I just hear you correctly-” He raised his hand as if to check Fenris for a fever before pulling back at the last second when Fenris scowled at him.

“I will not repeat myself,” he said. And then, after a moment of consideration added, “I do feel relatively healthy, however.”

Anders’ hand dropped and the two stared at each other for a beat. Slowly the mage said, “For once I believe we are both on the same page. You… Did not have to stay to help me, not when you did not owe me a debt in the first place.”

Fenris opened his mouth as if to argue before shrugging and closing it. The silence that descended then was uneasy, both men unsure of where they stood with the other.

“Well,” Fenris finally said, “I will be taking my leave now. I need to wash…” He looked down at himself with a grim expression that was strangely endearing, “Everything.”

“Yes,” Anders said, unable to help the small smile on his face, “You wouldn’t believe the laundry the clinic accumulates.”  
Fenris looked back up at him, eyes wide and searching for… Something. 

“Perhaps,” he said, clearing his throat, “If you need help with the folding later on…”

Anders almost chuckled, a feeling that was foreign after the events of the past few days and in the presence of this man. “I will never say no to more help.”

Fenris nodded and Anders watched as a sliver of a smile appeared on his face. It was small and precious and made Anders’ breath catch in the back of his throat. It was the same as the one that his mother had worn, when she had looked upon him, and yet Anders’ reaction to it was entirely different.

“Until then,” Fenris said, and when he turned away it was with a sense of satisfaction, of… Anticipation even.

“Until then,” Anders whispered into the still air of the clinic, long after the door had shut on Fenris’ back


End file.
